


Five Days After Ronon Loses His Dreads

by perspi



Series: DreadLoss [2]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Gen, Hair Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 10:01:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10784592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perspi/pseuds/perspi
Summary: "It's just hair, McKay. I'll survive."(originally posted 11-2008)





	Five Days After Ronon Loses His Dreads

**Author's Note:**

> Relates to Episodes: Through Season 4, with a potential spoiler for Season 5. Originally posted 11-2-2008, in response to news that Jason Momoa needed to cut his dreadlocks for health reasons but the SGA showrunners wouldn't let Ronon lose his hair (and thus that awful wig was born). 
> 
> I was like, dude, there are _so many_ satisfying, in-universe and in-character ways you could accomplish Ronon losing his hair; HERE ARE FIVE. And then this is the sequel, of what happens next.
> 
> #5 refers to events in the [Three Fathers 'verse](http://three-fathers.dreamwidth.org/).

**1\. Burn**  
  
  
Ronon wakes to the familiar sharp-and-soap scent of Atlantis' infirmary and the warmth of breath on his face. He opens his eyes to see Jennifer, gently holding bandages against the side of his head.  
  
"Hey," he says, and it comes out rusted and soft, like his voice had sounded the last year he Ran.  
  
"Hey, welcome back," Jennifer replies with a smile. "I'm almost done, and then I'd like to sit you up and take a look at you, okay?"  
  
Ronon grunts an affirmative and closes his eyes, trying to think through the pounding headache enough to will his body to move. He hates concussions.  
  
Jennifer is as good as her word, quick and efficient and gentle even through the exam. She sends him out with orders to rest and an envelope of pills, "Because I know how many of these you're going to actually take, and I can't afford to leave perfectly good Tylenol sitting on a shelf in your quarters."  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Sheppard's got a private room on the other end of the infirmary, and Ronon's not sure if it's a privilege of rank or serious injury. Rodney glances up, then his eyes widen and he swears quietly. "Jesus, Ronon. Sheppard said your hair was gone but _holy crap_. It's, it's just another thing entirely to _see_ it."  
  
Ronon's head feels three sizes too big with the gauze wrapped around it; it _also_ feels two sizes too small without the weight of the dreads brushing his shoulders. It's a paradox Ronon doesn't care to contemplate; all he really knows is that his head hurts and he wants to see Sheppard before he retreats to his own bed.  
  
But Rodney is suddenly in his space, steering him into the bathroom and pointing him at the mirror. "Oh my God," Rodney says, and at least he's keeping his voice pitched low, "no one is going to recognize you. Put you in a uniform, you could be a Marine."  
  
Ronon looks, he can't _not_ , and Rodney's right--he hardly recognizes himself. He looks...small, his head suddenly weirdly proportioned in relation to his shoulders, and it's almost more disorienting than the white gauze and dark purple bruises. He tilts his head gingerly to one side and silently thanks Santafii that he's still got a head to tilt. He shrugs and mutters, "Whatever."  
  
"What do you mean, 'whatever'?" Rodney flutters just behind him, and Ronon leans heavily on Rodney's sturdy shoulder as he turns back to the main room. "How can you not care? You had to have been growing your hair for years!"  
  
"Yeah, so?" Ronon asks absently, watching the easy way Sheppard's sleeping.  
  
Rodney stops and sputters for a moment, until Ronon reaches out and ruffles the thinning hair sticking up from his head. "It's just hair, McKay. I'll survive."  
  
Rodney's lips twist in a half-smile, half-smirk. "Yeah, you tend to do that, don't you," he says softly before shooing Ronon out the door.  
  
****  
  
2\. Wraith  
  
  
Ronon stands under the shower a long time, letting the near-scalding water melt the last of the Wraith-web from him. He scrubs thoroughly with the strongest soap he could barter for, something that smells sweet and crisp, trying to erase the feel and scent of the cocoon from his skin.  
  
He rubs the bar across his scalp, using his fingers to viciously work up a thick lather. He counts the unraveling bumps that are what's left of the locks, runs his fingernails along the valleys where his father had first parted the hair. He lets himself mourn while the water falls, lets it carry away soap and tears alike.  
  
He still shakes with the rage of it when he looks in the mirror, when he sees the carelessly-hacked landscape of his head. The loss he can deal with (the last of Sateda, carried with him always), but he will not bear the mark of violation for all to see.  
  
Three breaths for his hands to steady, and Ronon begins to shave.  
  
  
  
**3\. Frustration**  
  
  
Sheppard radios him early and begs off their run; apparently there's something going down with the Marines this morning, some Earth thing that Ronon has absolutely no interest in. He tosses the radio on the nightstand and lets himself drift back to the best sleep he's had in almost a decade. Maybe. Ronon's too happy sleeping to question it now.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
His hair's a little frizzy after his shower; Ronon figures he'll have to corner Sheppard at some point and get some of the goop he uses. For now, though, it'll do what it wants, and that's fine, because what it wants is out of his line of sight.  
  
Ronon's pretty single-minded when it comes to the breakfast line, so he doesn't notice anything unusual until he sits down across from Teyla. He hears a muffled grunt and a crash behind him; it sounds like somebody ran into a table and dropped their tray. Teyla looks up and raises one eyebrow, so Ronon gives her a grin in return.  
  
"You are well?" she inquires while deftly peeling her _chantto_ fruit.  
  
"Mmm-hm," he grunts in reply.  
  
They eat in companionable silence; Teyla throwing pointed looks and Ronon pointedly ignoring the stares of the rest of the people in the mess hall.  
  
"My balance is different," he tells her while she's packing up her tray.  
  
Teyla's smile is warm and wicked in a way it never used to be before she started training raw Marines. "Then I will be delighted to drop you on your ass. One hour?"  
  
  
  
**4\. Paint**  
  
  
Ronon leaves the infirmary smelling vastly better than he did when he went in, and he's not surprised to find the rest of his team waiting for him. John and Rodney are both absently rubbing at their newly-smooth scalps, and Ronon can't stop himself mirroring the gesture. Teyla is serenely sharpening a knife, the arc of her bare head a graceful continuation of the line of her neck. She is utterly stunning, and Ronon has to pause for a moment to recognize the goddess his friend has become.  
  
John notices Ronon's hesitation. "Yeah, that's what I said."  
  
"It's not fair, I'm telling you," Rodney grumbles. "Look at him, _he_ still looks fantastic, and Teyla is--" he sweeps a hand in an all-encompassing gesture, "--there's a _reason_ why I never get kidnapped by the hot alien chick and it's because I'm on a team of _supermodels_ who even look good BALD."  
  
Ronon reaches over and rubs Rodney's shiny pink head; it's round and solid and fits neatly in his hand. "S'okay," he tells him. "Your head is nice."  
  
Rodney gives him a withering glare. "Nice. Thanks."  
  
"Your head does have a pleasing shape," Teyla adds without looking up, and Rodney's flush goes up the back of his neck.  
  
"Hey, what about me?" John whines, so Ronon rubs John's head, too.  
  
"Kinda pointy," he decrees, just to hear John squawk and Rodney laugh.  
  
  
  
**5\. Ritual**  
  
  
Teyla stirs almost before Sennot does; she finds them together on the couch just as Sennot snuffles himself to wakefulness.  
  
"I would have brought him to you," Ronon half-whispers as Teyla settles next to them. She leans into Ronon's shoulder as she puts Sennot to her breast; Ronon shifts down a bit to provide the most comfortable support he can.  
  
"I was ready to get out of bed," she replies quietly once Sennot is well-settled and nursing happily. She glances over and does an odd double-take when she finally sees him. "Ronon, your hair," she breathes.  
  
Ronon finds he can't look back at her; suddenly he has to focus on the blank vidscreen in the far corner of the room. His voice is thick, but he has to tell her, has to share at least the _why_ , even if the _what_ remains between himself and Sennot. "My clan... We followed old ways. You locked your hair at fifteen, when you became an adult. Let it grow until you...had a child."  
  
This close, Ronon doesn't miss Teyla's soft gasp, her understanding of just what the length of his hair would have meant, back home. He rubs his free hand over his head self-consciously and cuts a glance at Teyla to see her looking back at him with shining eyes.  
  
"It was time," he says simply.  
  
Teyla quietly agrees and rests her head against his shoulder. She and Sennot both fall asleep, nestled against Ronon in the deep couch. He quirks a smile imagining John and Rodney's reactions to his new baby-matching hairstyle.  
  
Content in his family, Ronon watches the dawn.


End file.
